


dining with the enemy

by januarysunset



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crack, Drabble, Ineffable Bureaucracy, M/M, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 20:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarysunset/pseuds/januarysunset
Summary: Beel and Gabe “dine” at the Ritz whilst spying on their respective deviant subordinates, as managers do.





	dining with the enemy

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [dining with the enemy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310679) by [vogeld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogeld/pseuds/vogeld)



> A/N: do forgive me if the characters may come off a little bit OOC as this entire thing is the result of a self-indulgent fantasized scenario that started on twitter and got me getting up from bed multiple times between 1-2AM simply to jot down whatever came to my head
> 
> also, they/them pronouns for Beel

“Look at him,” Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, one of the Seven Princes of Hell, Wearer of Knee-High Shorts, says as they stab into the small pile on their dish with needlessly ferocious contempt.

Sitting many tables away near the tall glass windows are Aziraphale and Crowley, who by their count, have gone to the eleventh restaurant on their fifth day of surveillance.

“That Balenciaga-clad, sunglasses-wearing, holy-water-bathing knave.”

“This is difficult to watch.” Sitting across them, the Archangel Gabriel grumbles as Aziraphale inhales the essence of before lavishing a spoonful of ambrosia. “How can an angel become… that?”

“Don’t even get me started on Crowley,”’ Beelzebub adds before digging in and chewing with needless intensity.“Gone native from spending too much time above ground. Fraternizing -- no, _frolicking_ \- with an angel!”

“A celestial being eating sushi. _Sushi!_ ” Gabriel has never looked so scandalized.

“I hear he’s taken to gardening in his spare time,” says Beelzebub. Apparently they’re following their own thread while letting the archangel dump simultaneously. “ _Gardening!_ How humiliating - demons aren’t gardeners; the only seeds we plant are doubt and temptation.”

“In hindsight, maybe we should have intervened when he started dabbling in the Gavotte. Or when he wouldn’t join us in chorus whenever we sang _Climb every Mountain_.”

“Remember went they went on a picnic last week? That Crowley made sandwiches. _Made_  them.” And as if the point wasn’t already clear, “ _With his own hands_.”

Gabriel grimaces. “How primitive.”

“My thoughts exactly, Garble!”

“Did you just deliberately mispronounce my name?”

Tables away, Aziraphale is laughing heartily at something Crowley has said. The affectionate facial expressions and subtle grazing of fingers that follow thereafter could give any vile demon a nasty case of diarrhea.

“How can he spend so much time sharing a table with an angel?” Beelzebub scoffs. This is immediately followed by them sharing a look with Gabriel and recognizing the irony.

“Well. This doesn’t count, we’re not enjoying ourselves.”

“Obviously. Unlike those two, we are here strictly on serious managerial business.”

“Absolutely.” And after a pensive pause, Gabriel adds, “For the record, that wasn’t us agreeing on anything.”

“... you do realize that if I say you’re right, then that means I’m agreeing with you.” Beelzebub’s fingers tighten dramatically around the fork. “Like the despicable celestial that you are, you’ve lured me into a trap.”

Gabriel’s face contorts into his signature “are you for real” face. He puts on an exaggerated shrug and says, “Then maybe just don’t agree nor disagree with me, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, and I’m saying so because I want to, not because you said so.”

“Okay, sure.”

Determined to get away from the subject, Beelzebub then examines the chunk of halibut they had stabbed with their fork. “Hundreds of dollars for a minuscule scrap of meat is a stroke of genius. These earth dwellers are saving our side so much effort already.”

Gabriel eyes the saucy dish with barely hidden disgust. He hasn’t ordered anything for himself at all, his own plate and surrounding utensils still in perfect arranged symmetry, untouched.

“Hm, I thought you angels were supposed to love all things, big and small,” Beelzebub says, an eyebrow arched as they go in for the bite.

“I simply do not want to sully this celestial body with… impurity.”

“Well we needn’t have been here if it weren’t for your idea to pose as customers in this posh establishment, Garbile.”

That was true - this had been Gabriel’s idea. There are three reasons why he suggested it - one, he has had experience being among humans. Two, Gabriel knows angels just can’t mess up on anything, that’s pretty much sacred law. Ergo, he can’t mess up on being human. The pornography purchase in Aziraphale’s book shop a while back is proof of his prowess in human impressions. And three, the chair across him has miraculously grown a couple of inches longer than the others, and the Lord of the Flies’ legs are dangling in midair.

Oh, and of course, the main point of all this - surveillance of their deviant subordinates.

While Gabriel is finishing his inner monologue, Beelzebub has just emptied their plate and is about to summon a nearby waiter. An arm half-raised, they call out, “Pitiful human vassal.”

Unperturbed in the slightest, the jolly young fellow saunters forward.

Despite the situation not warranting any handling, Gabriel says “I’ll handle this,” before he mentally dives into his archive of human vocabulary. His choice to not partake in earthly grub has of course not dulled his knowledge of it. Looking uninterested, Beelzebub rolls their eyes but allows this anyway.

“Hello,” Gabriel says to the waiter. “My, err -- _associate_  here would love to have an orgasm.”

Pausing only briefly but maintaining his work-required smile, the waiter says, “Beg your pardon, sir?”

Half-laughing, Gabriel says, “Oh there’s nothing to beg for but forgiveness, child.” The waiter doesn’t say anything, but continues to smile unerringly at them as he looks back and forth from demon to angel. Apparently, they have the same _Smile Always_  policy here as they do in Heaven.

When it becomes clear that the conversation has stalled, Gabriel then decides to flex his knowledge.

“It’s a kind of fruit. Tangy, citrus,” he says with the over-bloated confidence of someone who has watched a single economics-for-dummies video and proceeds to claim to know all the solutions to the world’s problems. “Naturally I’ve never had one, but I hear that those are very good.”

Gabriel finishes with a smile because he’s consistent. Meanwhile, in the silence that follows the explanation that didn’t help at all, the waiter’s smile is steadily faltering. Beelzebub looks on and feeds on the misery he never fails to siphon from minimum wage earners.

Thinking that he isn’t studying medicine to be subject to this ridiculousness at all, the waiter concedes and leaves them with a half-hearted “I’ll see what I can do”.

“I’m sure you’ll find the dessert I chose scrumptious,” Gabriel says, feeling unnecessarily smug as the waiter pretends to go back to the kitchen to inform the chef.

“Well, I’m well past eating now, so.” The look on Gabriel’s face is enough to feed Beelzebub for a year. “Also while you were so adamant about asking for orgasms, Aziraphale and Crowley have gone.”

Gabriel sneaks a look out the glass windows, and sure enough, the couple have just seated themselves in Crowley’s Bentley. In a second, Crowley drives them out and onto the road, just right before Gabriel catches Aziraphale’s face and body brace itself for the fast ride.

“Well this has been a complete waste,” the archangel grumbles as they both stand up from their table. “And all I had for dinner was an awful time with the enemy.”

Beelzebub shrugs. “At least I can announce to my constituents about Archangel Gabriel’s failure to get an orgasm. Hell wins this round.”

“Hey, the Divine Plan says nothing of this battle so this doesn’t count as a win,” Gabriel protests as he holds the restaurant door open for the Lord of the Flies. Little did he know that he’d be having more of these micro games with Beelzebub. Little did either of them know that they’d find these rather amusing.

Meanwhile, already miles away, the subjects of their surveillance are talking about them in the Bentley.

“Did you see those two? Eleventh time already this week.”

“Pretty hard to miss the air of pompous assholery in the general atmosphere,” Crowley responds. Then in a lower and more mischievous voice, he adds, “Maybe next time we should give them a bit more to report about.”

There’s a slight pause before Aziraphale responds, but he sounds quite equally mischievous. “Yes, like what if we kissed, or something.”

“What?”

“Watch the road, Crowley, dear.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!  
> this is my first fic for GO, so it would really help to know what you guys think in the comments ^^  
> in crowley's words, can i get a wahoo?
> 
> edit: the picnic date referenced by Beel can be read here: [ of prehistoric eggs, with love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19459801)


End file.
